"Katherine Kerr - Deverry 02 - Darkspell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Katherine)

‘What frightens me is that he could ensorcel Loddlaen so easily. Loddlaen’s mind was more elven
than human. Do you see what that means? Our enemy must have a good knowledge of elven ways, but
I’m as sure as I can be that no dark dweomerman has ever traveled in the elven lands.’

‘Bad news, indeed,’ Caer said. ‘Well, then, the hard truth of the matter is that we haven’t been
vigilant enough. That has to change.’

‘Exactly,’ Nevyn said. ‘We can work out the details among ourselves later, but there’s one more thing
I want to put to the full Council of Thirty-Two. During this war, hundreds of men saw dweomer worked
openly.’

For a moment the assembly was shocked into silence; then the talk burst out, just as when a summer
storm gathers, the sky leaden gray, growing heavier as the birds hush; then suddenly with a crack of
thunder comes the rain. Nevyn turned to Aderyn.

‘It’s time for you to leave us. I’ll contact you later through the fire.’

‘Well and good, then. Truly, you’ve all got much to discuss.’

Aderyn’s image was abruptly gone from the grove. Slowly the assembly quieted itself.

‘Well, now, this is a grave thing,’ Caer said at last. ‘Of course, no one outside of western Eldidd will
believe them. In time, the tale will die away.’

‘Provided no one stirs it up again with more dweomer.’

‘Ye gods! Do you think that was part of the dark ones’ scheme, to flush us out into the open?’

‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it?’

The assembly turned uneasy, and with good reason. Once, back in the Dawntime when the people of
Bel had first come to Deverry from their original homeland across the eastern seas, the priests of the oak
groves known as drwiddion had openly worked dweomer. Men feared them, flattered them, and
groveled before them until the inevitable corruption set in. The priests grew rich and held great demesnes;
they shaped the laws to their advantage and wielded power like lords. Slowly, of its own accord, the
dweomer left them, until their rituals became empty shows and their words of power, mere chatter.

Such are the temptations of temporal power that the priesthood forgot that it had ever had the true
dweomer. By Nevyn’s time, they too dismissed tales of wonderworking priests as mere fancies, fit for a
bard’s song and nothing more.

Yet the dweomer survived, passed down from master to apprentice in secret. The dweomerfolk
swore strict vows to live quiet lives, hiding their skills, lest they too be corrupted by flattery and riches.
Caer was the head groom of the gwerbret of Lughcarn’s stables; Nesta, the widow of a Cerrmor spice
merchant. Nevyn himself lived the simplest life of all, because he was a herbman, wandering the kingdom
with a mule and tending the ills of folk too poor to afford apothecaries and chirurgeons. If those long
years of secrecy came to an end, it was likely that, sooner or later, the dweomer-masters might succumb
to the same temptations that had drawn the priests from the true path.